


Joke

by Josselin



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Imported, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-01-26
Updated: 2004-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fortunately, my internet is fixed again, so here's the fic portion that I wrote last night.  It's *gasp* A ROMANTIC COMEDY!!  I know, can you believe it?  Amazing.  I shock myself sometimes.</p><p>Anyway, it's also very AU, as you'll see, but yet totally in canon-sense.  (Just read it, that'll make sense.)</p><p>It's gonna end up being fairly long, so I don't have a set number of parts yet.  Unfortunately, this first section is a little heavy handed with the backstory, but I needed to do that so I could get into the momentum of the middle.  I'll have to revise this part later, probably.</p><p>(As a side note here, Wrenlet, I'm very sorry about the blanket, but I just couldn't do it, it was too horribly boring. Forgive me?)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fortunately, my internet is fixed again, so here's the fic portion that I wrote last night. It's *gasp* A ROMANTIC COMEDY!! I know, can you believe it? Amazing. I shock myself sometimes.
> 
> Anyway, it's also very AU, as you'll see, but yet totally in canon-sense. (Just read it, that'll make sense.)
> 
> It's gonna end up being fairly long, so I don't have a set number of parts yet. Unfortunately, this first section is a little heavy handed with the backstory, but I needed to do that so I could get into the momentum of the middle. I'll have to revise this part later, probably.
> 
> (As a side note here, Wrenlet, I'm very sorry about the blanket, but I just couldn't do it, it was too horribly boring. Forgive me?)

Brian Kinney was not a man prone to introspection. But when one went from being the hottest fag in Pittsburgh, with a paid off loft, an office with a huge window, a truly remarkable Prada wardrobe, and a new guy to fuck every night, to being homeless and somehow married—well, then one had to stop and think. When Brian thought about it all, the only possible conclusion was that God was playing a giant joke on him. Either God, or fucking Gardner Vance and Senator Baxter co-conspiring. Either way, Brian was pissed off.

Retrospectively, the joke began on a normal Friday workday. The other partner at Brian’s company, Gardner Vance, walked by Brian’s office to inform him that they were attending a huge political fundraising dinner the next evening.

Vance blabbered about the senator’s big plans for political reform for a few minutes, but when he began to mention how Kathleen Baxter’s corporate sponsors signing on to Vangard would be enough of a push to launch the New York office Vance had been promising Brian for a year now, then Brian’s ears perked up and he began to listen.

“Baxter’s heard about you,” Vance was saying. “And she’s apparently very excited about discussing her plans for gay rights legislation with you. So, uh,” Vance finished, “Bring a date. Cocktails at seven.”

Brian practically laughed out loud at that. The fuck he was even going to some stupid fundraiser, much less dragging along some other poor fuck.

* * *

“Just don’t mention anything having to do with politics,” Brian instructed Michael later that evening, sitting at the kitchen table in the apartment Michael shared with his boyfriend. “Or advertising. Or current events.”

Over on the couch, the little college student that Michael’s boyfriend Ben had adopted was snickering. Brian ignored him as always. Six months back, the kid had been accidentally outed when his roommate walked in on him and some other guy, and the kid’s parents had disowned him and his roommate had beat him up. The kid had been in one of Ben’s classes, and he’d felt so bad for the little blond with a black eye that he’d taken the kid in. The kid—his name was Justin—had scholarships that covered his tuition at Carnegie Mellon, but he’d been homeless after his father stopped his checks for room and board, and so he was still living in Michael’s spare room.

Ben’s little adoptee had been a bone of contention between him and Michael for a while—Brian suspected that Mikey thought Ben was fucking the kid, and why not? the kid was hot—but Michael had gotten over it by now and seemed to think of the guy like a little brother. They even drew little cartoons together, sometimes. Brian had offered to let the kid draw his dick, which he assured the kid had super powers, but the kid told him to fuck off. Actually, the kid had said that he’d heard more mature come-ons from high school students, but Brian didn’t like to think about that very much.

“Quiz time,” Brian told Michael. “True or false. Use forks starting from the inside out.” Michael inspected the silverware laid out in front of him intently, as though they were runes holding the answer to the question. Finally, Michael looked up at Brian with a frustrated expression.

“Brian,” Michael began.

“False,” the kid said quietly, still smirking.

“There’s no possible way I can remember all of this,” Michael continued.

Brian frowned and bit his lip. “Well, maybe you can just not eat anything. We’ll say you’re…on some hyper-conscious diet that only eats fruits raised by people paid living wages.”

The kid chuckled at that, but Michael just threw up his arms. “So I’m not supposed to say anything and not supposed to eat anything. That sounds great, Brian, just great. I think I’ll not say anything and not eat anything with Ben, at the faculty dinner I already committed to attending.”

“Mikey,” Brian whined, putting on his best pouty face. “I need you to come with me to show the senator how proudly gay I am so her clients will pay me thousands and thousands of dollars.”

“Make Emmett or Ted go with you,” Michael suggested. “I can’t do it, Brian. I’m busy and I’m hopeless at that sort of thing, anyway, you know that.”

“Like Ted or Emmett are any better,” Brian scoffed.

Michael tried to convince Brian that he could be proudly gay for the senator by himself, but Brian had lit upon another idea. He turned around and focused on the kid playing gameboy in the living room.

“You.” Brian said, walking around to end up in front of the couch.

The kid looked up from his game. “Huh?”

“You,” Brian repeated. “You can be my date.”

“Brian,” Michael began to protest, but Brian cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Yeah, right,” the kid said, turning back to his game.

“I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” Brian offered.

The kid looked up again, but then shook his head. “I can make almost that much in tips on a busy night,” the kid proclaimed. “And I don’t have to dress up.”

“There’s an open bar,” Brian added.

The kid sneered at that idea. “He’s underage,” Michael pointed out helpfully. Brian and Justin both rolled their eyes at that.

“Three hundred dollars,” the kid said finally. “And I want to be home by midnight. My mother’s dragging me to church the next morning.”

“Justin and his mother are beginning to reconcile,” Michael added proudly.

“Cinderella,” Brian told Justin, “you have yourself a deal.”

Nicknames aside, Brian didn’t want the kid to show up in a pumpkin and glass slippers, so he carefully inspected the kid’s wardrobe, told him specifically what to wear, and made arrangements to pick him up at seven.

“I thought you said it started at seven,” Michael objected.

“It’s always good to be fashionably late,” Justin said distractedly, trying on a dress shirt and tie. He was totally screwing up the knot, though, so Brian brushed his hands away and tied it himself. The kid stepped over to the mirror to inspect himself. The clothes were hardly designer, but Brian supposed they would do for the occasion. Served Gardner right, anyway.

The next evening, Brian picked the kid up, fixed his tie, and lead him down to the Jeep. In the car on the way there, Justin insisted that Brian tell him about his job. Brian tried to blow him off, but Justin was persistent. “If you want me to do anything more than sit there and look pretty,” Justin said, “you need to fucking give me some information.”

Brian grudgingly spouted some stats about his agency.

“What’s the latest campaign you’ve worked on?” Justin asked.

“Dima soap,” Brian said, flicking on his turn signal.

“Those things shaped like little animals?” Justin asked.

Brian nodded.

Justin hummed the theme song to the commercial. “My friend Daphne loves those things,” Justin said, laughing.

Brian thought they reeked, personally, but decided not to insult his date’s girlfriend before they even got to the dinner.

They arrived at the dinner fashionably late, in a perfect position—everyone else was there already, but it wasn’t too late that they looked bad for being late. Brian started looking around for the bar, but just as he zoomed in on it, Gardner snuck up from behind him and started making introductions.

Senator Kathleen Baxter was in her fifties, with gray hair. She shook Brian’s hand firmly, and Justin’s as well. Brian was about to say something about being hopeful that they could have a productive relationship together when Justin opened his mouth. Brian cringed inwardly.

“I attended your lecture last month at Carnegie Mellon,” Justin said calmly to the senator. “And I’m very impressed by your outline for the WHI incentive.”

Brian had no idea what the hell the kid was talking about, but the senator’s eyes lit up. “Why, thank you,” she said. “I just feel that it’s a problem that’s gone unexamined too long.”

“Most problems have,” Brian muttered under his breath.

Kathleen Baxter caught what he said, though, and turned sharp eyes on him. She laughed briefly. “I suppose they have,” she agreed with Brian, “or they wouldn’t be problems still, would they?”

Brian gave her an apologetic smile; Gardner gave Brian a warning glare.

“I think that dividing the groups into different subcategories like that is a good way to make sure the needs of all age groups are addressed,” Justin cut in, presumably still talking about the WHE or whatever.

“The current program consistently ignores the needs of the elderly and unmarried mothers,” Senator Baxter agreed, nodding. She practically beamed at Justin, taking his arm and threading it through hers. “I want to introduce you to…” her voice faded out as she lead Justin across the room.

Vance shook his head slowly, staring at Justin. “Could you have found anyone younger?” he asked sarcastically.

“Well, I considered trolling my son’s preschool, but that seemed in poor taste.”

Vance shot him a look. “Don’t mess this up,” he said. Then he adjusted his tie and walked over towards a group of men gathered around a poster. Brian sighed, fixed his sights on the bar, and headed that direction.

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Joke (2/?)

By eleven o’clock, having imbibed one too many drinks and listened to Senator Baxter fawn over Justin’s ideas like they were the best thing since sliced bread for three hours, Brian was about ready to puke.

“So,” Kathleen Baxter said, looking from Brian to Justin and back toward Brian. “How long have you two been together?”

“Sometimes it feels like forever,” Brian said, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

Justin rolled his eyes at Brian conspiratorially with the senator. “Brian’s a little tired this evening,” he said apologetically.

“Oh, I know how that is,” the senator said sympathetically, patting Justin’s hand. “While the campaign’s on I feel like I never get a moment to rest.” Justin made understanding noises.

“Don’t you need to be getting home, Cinderella?” Brian said to Justin, checking his watch ostentatiously.

“Cinderella?” Kathleen raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Brian calls me that,” Justin said confidentially. “It’s a pet name.”

“And so appropriate for such a little princess,” Brian said smarmily, giving in to temptation and reaching out to pinch Justin’s cheek. Justin smiled at him tolerantly.

“But I really must be going,” Justin turned back to Kathleen. “Tomorrow I’m going to church with my mother.”

“Oh yes,” the senator nodded, having already heard Justin’s entire life story. “It’ll be important for you to be well rested when the two of you talk then.” She turned to Brian. “Brian, I’d love to take you and Justin out to dinner some time to further discuss my campaign and your company’s ideas about it.”

Brian kind of suspected that what she really wanted was to hear cute little Justin chatter more about his personal life, but Vance was sitting at the table behind them and if Brian didn’t follow up on this opportunity handed to him on a silver platter, well, then Vance would fire him, and Vance would be right, because if he passed this up, he wouldn’t be Brian Fucking Kinney.

Brian accepted the senator’s card and gave her one of his own. “Sounds great,” he said. He glanced at Justin. “We’d love to. Tuesday?”

“Call me,” Kathleen said dismissively. “I can never remember my schedule offhand.” Brian nodded acknowledgement. He waited for Justin and the senator to say their little goodbyes, and then the two of them walked out together. It was spring but still early in the season, so there was a bit of a bite to the air as they walked quickly out to the Jeep in the parking lot.

The fresh air and the victory of having the senator’s campaign practically in his pocket already revived Brian a bit, and he could feel his headache floating away. He watched the kid walk around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s side, and couldn’t help but admire Justin’s ass as he moved.

Brian pulled the car out of the parking lot and they rode in the car in silence for a comfortable moment. He reflected briefly that he never thought he’d be in the position of having to take his date home after dinner before. It sort of reminded him of that brief time in college when he and Lindsay had been going out, because women were fickle and didn’t always want to fuck after dinner. Sometimes they did, and sometimes they didn’t, and if you couldn’t sort of magically sense which they wanted at the moment then they got really pissed at you. He remembered the old clunker car he’d had in college with a snicker, and patted the Jeep’s steering wheel fondly.

When Brian got to the corner of Main, he paused for a moment before turning towards Mikey’s place. “Are you sure you want to be home by midnight?” he asked Justin.

“Huh?” Justin said, distracted from looking out the window in the dark.

“We could go back to my place,” Brian suggested, looking over at Justin so the kid couldn’t mistake his meaning. “Make it into a real date,” he continued. “I’ll even give you a bonus for staying out late,” he offered. He raised an eyebrow and waited for Justin’s reaction.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Joke (3/?)

_“We could go back to my place,” Brian suggested, looking over at Justin so the kid couldn’t mistake his meaning. “Make it into a real date,” he continued. “I’ll even give you a bonus for staying out late,” he offered. He raised an eyebrow and waited for Justin’s reaction._

Justin had a shocked look on his face and then let out a disbelieving laugh. “Fuck you,” he said, his tone a mixture of amusement and disgust. “Take me home,” he said.

Brian scowled, making the turn towards Michael’s place. “You’re the one who was waving his ass around all night.”

“Excuse me?” Justin scoffed. “I was sitting in a chair the whole time. Where do you get this shit?”

Brian came to a stop at a stop sign. He turned to smile fake-sweetly at Justin. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, princess,” he said, reaching over grab the kid’s crotch. Justin was half-hard already; Brian smiled smugly, satisfied.

Justin almost squeaked, which made Brian’s grin just the tiniest bit more smug, and he flung Brian’s hand away. Brian smirked. When he pulled up in front of Michael’s apartment, Justin jumped out of the car quickly and slammed the door sharply behind himself, not looking back as he walked up the front steps. Brian watched him go inside. He was totally waving his ass deliberately.

On Tuesday morning, Brian called Michael from work and announced that he was picking Justin up at six-thirty and Michael should make sure the kid was ready by then. When he pulled up in the Jeep at 6:27, Justin was sitting on the front steps of Michael’s apartment, reading a book. He looked up when Brian stopped the car, but made no move to get up and returned his attention to his book.

Brian honked the car horn, but he remained sitting there. One of the little teenage hustlers who had recently invaded Michael’s neighborhood walked up to the car but left after a withering glare from Brian. After a moment of Brian psychically beating Justin’s ass through the driver’s side window, he put the cark into park and stepped out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brian asked.

“I want my money up front,” Justin said. The other hustlers turned and were watching this confrontation with interest.

“He’s not worth the trouble,” one of them called to Brian. “But I’ll blow you for fifty bucks.”

Brian pulled out his wallet and handed Justin three hundred dollars.

Justin shook his head. “Five hundred.”

One of the hustlers was getting bold again. “Fuck that,” he said, sneering at Justin. He wrapped and arm around Brian’s waist. “Forget him. You’ve got me.” He smiled up at Brian.

Brian peeled the hustler’s disgusting arm off of him. “Fuck. Off.” he told the kid. He turned back to Justin. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

Justin was reading his book again. “What agreement?” he said mildly.

“Three hundred dollars,” Brian repeated.

“That was Saturday,” Justin said. “This is Tuesday. Things are different now.”

Brian looked up at the sky, begging for patience. He pulled his wallet out again and gave Justin an additional two hundred dollars. Justin turned down the corner of the page of his book, and stood up, suddenly all smiley agreement, and followed Brian to the car.

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Joke (4/?)

Brian had only two goals when he went to dinner Tuesday evening. He wanted to not kill Justin until after desert, and he wanted Kathleen Baxter to sign the contract Vangard was suggesting for her campaign, a contract that would give Vangard exclusive access to her corporate sponsors and the finances it needed to open the new branch office in New York. During dinner, Brian tried to distract himself from the repeated urge to strangle Justin with mental pictures of what his new life in New York would be like as soon as this campaign was over. He could be settled in his new office by the end of May.

But Baxter wasn’t cooperating. She didn’t seem interested in finalizing the details of the contract; she seemed interested in hearing about how Justin and Professor Perfect had aroused campus interested in their AIDS Awareness group. And she wanted to hear about Justin’s artwork being displayed at the Gay and Lesbian Center, because she had a soft spot in her heart for artists—her son was an oboist, she told Justin.

When she finally agreed, as the waiter was clearing away their desert plates, to discuss the terms of a contract, she said all the things that Brian didn’t want to hear. Things like, “model gay couple,” “example of commitment to the community,” and worst of all, horrible words about not agreeing to a contract until she’d seen the presentations from other PR agencies at the end of next week.

She did, however, have a whole list of functions that she thought Brian and Justin should attend with her over the next few weeks, because she knew they’d be interested and that way they could be up on things when they did negotiate the details of a contract later. And she assured Brian that there would be a contract, of course, the waiting period was merely a formality—a bureaucratic detail, but Brian wasn’t assured of shit until they had contracts and checks signed. Justin had been on the right track insisted on having his cash up front. If only Brian’s life were so easy.

So Brian walked out of the restaurant with a giant headache and no contract. He also had a blond kid walking along next to him, humming some tune. He paused on the way to the Jeep to pull a box of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.

Justin frowned at him briefly, but didn’t say anything, and for that, Brian was actually grateful to him. Once the doors of the Jeep were safely closed against the prying ears of the senator, Brian let out a sigh. “That food was crap,” he said.

Justin laughed, startled, and then nodded agreement. “I didn’t know it was possible for chicken to be that color. I could have sworn they got our entrees mixed up.”

“It was fucking disgusting, that’s what it was,” Brian said, starting the car and lowering the window to flick his cigarette butt out. He turned and raised an eyebrow at Justin. “Want to get some real disgusting food?”

Deb wasn’t working this evening at the Liberty Diner, and Justin wasn’t working that evening either, for obvious reasons. Michael had helped Justin to get a job there when he had first moved in, and Brian had seen him around waiting tables a lot in the past months. Michael said that Justin was always struggling with money since his father cut him off, even though he had a fairly generous scholarship from the school.

The two of them placed their orders and Brian regarded Justin across the booth. “Look,” Brian said. “This,” he gestured at the two of them to indicate their charade, “is going to have to last for at least two more weeks, and probably the length of the campaign—eight weeks. So we’re going to need some sort of arrangement.” He eyed the kid. “I’ll pay you $500 a week, but I need you to have your evenings free.” He gestured around the rest of the diner. “And that includes dumping this joint if the campaign needs you.”

Justin nodded, calmly, taking a sip of water. “If I’m going to quit my job here, I need $600 to cover my expenses.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “What kind of expenses could you even have? There’s no way you’re making that kind of money at this shithole. And I happen to know you have free rent.”

Justin crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My expenses are none of your business. I need $600 a week or I’m not willing to quit my job. You can have the senator schedule her meetings around my shifts or handle the meetings by yourself.”

“You can still work morning shifts or whatever,” Brian reminded him.

“Not if I’m out ass-kissing some politician every night,” Justin said.

Brian rubbed his forehead tiredly. “550. But you had better fucking be worth it.”

Justin wrinkled his nose for a minute, then agreed. “Deal. But there are going to be some rules.”

“Rules?” Brian raised an eyebrow.

Justin nodded again, listing things out on his fingers. “One,” he started. “No touching me when we’re alone. You can touch me when we’re out in public for the sake of our roles, but,” he emphasized the ‘but’, “Not my dick or my ass.” He held up a second finger. “Two. No smoking. I quit three months ago and I don’t want to deal with it. Three. I want to be home by one or a get a bonus for working overtime.”

“By three,” Brian countered.

“Two,” Justin said.

“Deal,” Brian agreed, offering his hand across the table. Justin accepted it, and they shook on the agreement. “Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow at five,” Brian announced.

Justin looked confused. “Why? We’re not doing anything with the senator tomorrow.”

“We’re going shopping, Cinderella,” Brian said. “You need some new clothes if I’m going to be seen with you in public.”

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Joke (5/?)

Shopping with Justin was fine except for the fact that he had absolutely no taste and heaved heavy sighs ever five minutes to indicate his lack of patience for trying things on. Brian didn’t have any sympathy for him. Hell, if he had to watch the kid model one more pair of tight-fitting pants he was going to shove him against the wall of the dressing room, no-touching rule be damned.

The kid’s rules were fucked, too. He glared at Brian every time Brian so much as thought about having a cigarette but he was constantly touching Brian while they were alone or 'off-work working'—talking and consulting when the senator and her minions weren’t around to do any observing. Justin was constantly resting a hand on his shoulder while looking at something on the computer screen, swatting his arm playfully, kicking him under the table as a “I want to get the fuck out of here” hint. Brian counted and during their second shopping trip the kid touched him no less than seventeen times. Accidental? Brian didn’t think so, and he didn’t know what the kid’s little game was, but he didn’t like it because he had a sinking suspicion that the joke was on him.

Equally disturbing was his growing realization that after having quit his little job at the diner, Justin had no social life to speak of. Brian had to break standing dates with Michael and the guys every time the senator had some evening to-do going on, but Justin’s time was all free and clear, and Brian thought that it was not a little strange that someone young, horny, good-looking, and horny would not have any social life of his own.

But some casual questions of Justin about his friends only lead to a half-hour lecture on the virtues of his best friend Daphne, who he apparently used to play in the sandbox with at age five. And when Brian asked Michael if the kid had any boyfriends, Michael said, “Only you,” and then collapsed into a fit of giggles.

After he forced Michael to be serious, Michael still maintained that since that weird looking violin player from some art school, Justin hadn’t been seeing anyone. “That guy was irritating,” Michael related. “He was always trying to steal our food and stuff.”

Justin was obviously interested—Brian caught the way the kid eyed him when he thought Brian wasn’t looking, and the kid looked over attractive waiters and the occasional co-worker. He’d spent a whole evening checking out the redheaded son of some big-wig, but Brian could have told him not to waste his time—Red was still deep in denial and protested that he was straight. And yet, to Brian’s knowledge, Justin had not fucked anyone in two whole weeks.

Weighed down by two weeks of stressful campaigning and still lacking a signed contract from Baxter, Brian got wasted at Woody’s and tried to explain how weird this all was to Michael.

“It’s not natural,” Brian insisted, having another drink. “Guys have sex. It’s what we do,” he told Michael, and Michael nodded agreement. “That’s why it’s so wrong,” Brian concluded.

Michael was still nodding agreement. “You are so drunk,” Michael said, with that ‘I’m humoring Brian because he’s drunk’ tone in his voice. “And I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Must have horrible blue balls,” Brian continued musingly. “Sucks to be him.”

“C’mon,” Michael said, sliding a shoulder under Brian’s arm. “Let’s get you home.”

Michael drove him home and helped him to collapse on his bed. Brian stared up at the ceiling as Michael stripped him of his shoes and pants. “I just don’t get it, Mikey,” Brian said.

Michael rolled his eyes. “One of the mysteries of life, I guess,” he offered.

“Mmm,” Brian slurred, considering. “No, I’m going to figure it out,” he decided.

“You do that,” Michael said sarcastically, setting a glass of water on his nightstand.

“Night Mikey,” Brian said, pleased with himself now that he’d resolved to figure out the mystery.

“Night, asshole,” Michael said affectionately, flipping off the lights and setting the alarm on his way out. Brian fell asleep with a smile on his face.

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Joke (6/?)

The next day was Friday and Brian managed to solve the mysteries of the universe pretty damn fast. All he had to do was corner Professor Perfect at the gym before work. Ben gave him the full scoop about everything in his world, from the new hustlers on their block—“Can you believe he offered to let me fuck him without a condom?”—to Justin’s sex life, which was not as non-existent as Brian had thought.

“He’s got this little group of like five buddies,” Ben explained, grunting through some reps as Brian spotted him, “Mostly theater guys. But yeah—they’re all friends with benefits.”

Ben sat up to adjust the weights on the bar. “Friends with benefits?” Brian echoed, an eyebrow raised.

Ben nodded. “Yeah. They usually hang out in the theater library, but one time I walked in on a blowjob in the green room.” Ben went on about how they were just lucky that _he_ was the one who walked in on them and not Darlene Andrews, who was like 85 and prissy, or even Bob Krutson, who would not have been quite as understanding.

Brian grinned to himself. Now this was something to check out.

And check it out Brian did, abandoning work at four—it was Friday afternoon, after all—and heading over to campus to spy a little bit on his little cohort in deception.

He didn’t manage to find Justin conveniently hanging around so he could check out the princess in action, but he quickly decided that didn’t matter, because Ben was right. The instant Brian approached the theater building steps, his gaydar started pinging all over the place.

There were two guys sitting on the front steps who checked out his ass as he went in the building, but neither of them followed him in, so they obviously didn’t have good enough taste to make them worth fucking. Maybe it was something in the water over here. When he thought about, he had to remember that Ben ended up with _Michael_ , and even that was a little questionable.

Brian raised an eyebrow at a guy unlocking a door labeled “Prop Storage” but the guy only sneered at him and disappeared into a dark room filled with rows and rows of boxes. When Brian found the theater library he thought he might finally see Justin hanging around, but a glance through the window in the door only revealed one student staring a play and chewing on the end of a highlighter with lips that clearly deserved to be wrapped around something better. Brian would have to help rectify that situation.

Brian dragged the kid into the bathroom down the hall, and the kid got points for not asking who Brian was and where he came from and merely saying, “Oh, God,” in a worshipful sort of tone that made Brian snicker. But brownie points aside, the kid’s performance was only passable, and Brian left the building feeling a little sorry for Justin.

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Joke (7/?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know in the previous part, when I said it was Friday? That was a big lie. It was actually Saturday. I’ll fix it comprehensively in revision but for now just know that it’s Saturday. It’s not that big a detail, just something that was bugging me.

Brian was desperate to get the taste of that mediocrity out of his mouth—or rather, off his dick—and besides, he hadn’t had a decent blowjob all week because he had to spend all of his time doing the negative, non-life affirming kind of ass-kissing. So he wanted to call Michael and convince Mikey to go to Babylon with him, but he also remembered how last week when he and Michael went out they’d been dogged the whole evening by some prick from the other PR firm that was competing for Baxter’s campaign, and the prick had asked more than a dozen pointed questions about where Brian’s little hubby was and how he might feel to hear that his partner was out fucking around on him.

Brian wasn’t concerned what Justin thought about him fucking around—Justin could use a few lessons on how to be a good fag, anyway—but how Baxter might feel to hear that Brian was out fucking around on Justin was something that he had a not-insignificant interest in.

Clearly, there was only one thing to do. He had to convince Justin to go with him to Babylon. It’d probably be good for Justin, anyway—a valuable part of education in the ways of the Pittsburgh homosexual. Brian was only helping the boy out.

That was a good pitch, but when he called Justin up, Justin didn’t buy it. Nor did he buy the one about them being seen together socializing being helpful to the perpetuation of his charade. Brian began to get frustrated. “I am _not_ giving you any more cash.”

“Staying in one Saturday night isn’t going to kill you,” Justin said reasonably.

Brian was silent on his end of the line, and apparently his silence conveyed the message that _actually it really might kill me_ because Justin finally gave a heavy sigh and caved.

“Fine. You owe me, though.”

“I said no more cash,” Brian protested.

“Not cash. Date for date.”

“It’s not a date,” Brian said reflexively, and he could practically hear Justin rolling his eyes on the other end of the phone line.

“My friend Daphne is dying to meet you. You can come with me to her place tomorrow afternoon and help us bake cookies.”

Brian frowned. Sex versus teenage girls was a hard choice, but sex always won out in the end. Unless, of course, it was sex _with_ teenage girls that he was weighing out, but he was making this more complicated than it was. “I’m not going to fucking _eat_ any of the cookies.”

Justin just laughed.

“I’m picking you up at eight,” Brian announced. “Wear something pretty.”

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Joke (8/?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [](http://soundczech.livejournal.com/profile)[**soundczech**](http://soundczech.livejournal.com/) and [](http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/profile)[**wrenlet**](http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/) for half the dialogue here.

Brian arrived early and tried to harass Michael into joining them at Babylon, but Michael was being ridiculous and insisting that he wanted to stay home with his boyfriend. “They wait for me to leave and then they watch movies and make out on the couch,” Justin revealed, walking out of his bedroom.

Michael protested indignantly while Brian looked the kid over and could feel a small smile starting to form on his face. Justin was wearing a tight black t-shirt and jeans that fit _very_ nicely and all in all he was damn hot.

Justin raised a challenging eyebrow. “Pretty enough?”

“You’ll do.” He turned to Michael. “Last chance to live a little, Mikey.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I’ll stay dead tonight, thanks.” Brian kissed Michael goodbye, picked his keys off the table and led Justin out the door.

At Babylon, Justin was hard to dance with because he was so fucking critical. “You are the worst dancer I’ve ever met,” Justin told Brian with a frown.

“Don’t frown,” Brian said, fishing a bump out of his pocket. “You’ll get wrinkles.” He offered the drugs to Justin, who batted his hand away irritably.

Brian shrugged and rested his arms on Justin’s shoulders, trying to relax and move to the music. But it was really fucking hard to dance with someone who was acting prissy and had a bunch of stupid rules about how you could and could not touch them in public. Every time Brian tried to pull Justin in closer so they could dance properly, Justin got stiff—and not in the good way—and pulled away.

Finally Justin dropped his arms from Brian’s waist and took a step back. “Look,” he said to Brian, gesturing with his arms. “This is your dance space; this is my dance space.”

Brian grinned. “Whatever you say, Baby.”

Justin glared at him, and he could probably see the idea starting to grow in Brian’s eyes, because he cut Brian off. “Don’t even think about it.”

Brian snickered and grabbed Justin’s arm. He pulled the kid over towards the bar and ordered drinks for each of them. He wasn’t about to let Justin refuse, either, hoping the kid would relax a little after a few.

He abandoned Justin at the bar after a few drinks. Later, when he emerged from the backroom in search of water and someone who could give a decent blowjob for once, he saw Justin in the middle of the dance floor sandwiched between two beefy guys. Sucking on his water bottle, Brian watched some drama unfold on the dance floor as one of the guys he was dancing with wrapped and arm around Justin’s waist and whispered something in his ear.

Justin removed the man’s arm from his waist, said something that caused the guy to look at him with disgust, and moved away a little bit, where he was quickly surrounded by two other dancing queens.

Brian emptied his water bottle and then stalked across the dance floor to talk to his little protégé. He shoved away the queens and rested his forehead against Justin’s. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked reasonably.

“Excuse me?” Justin said indignantly, trying to pull his head away.

Brian sighed. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“What?”

Brian laid out the evidence. “You’re horny, but you’re not going to fuck any of these guys. You’re just going to drag them around by the cock all night ‘til you get bored and go home like some kind of pathetic little breeder.”

If Justin looked any more indignant he might have steam coming out of his ears. “My standards are higher than yours,” he said prissily. “Probably because you don’t have any.”

Brian thought about the blowjob he’d gotten in the theater building that afternoon and snorted disparagingly. “Well, I’d be quite happy to take you back to the loft and help you readjust your standards.” He smiled smarmily and Justin pushed him away disgustedly, disappearing into the crowd.

Brian was briefly distracted by a hot guy walking past, but decided the guy was too tall. See, he had standards.

A few minutes later, Brian was considering returning to the backroom when Justin cornered him and made an announcement. “Some of us,” Justin told Brian, “want more out of a relationship than meaningless sex.”

Brian graced him with a smile. “Some of us believe the bullshit the heteros feed you in nursery school.” He saw the tall guy across the room again, hitting on an ugly guy with a beard. Standards. He looked back at Justin again. “All sex has meaning. It means you’re not a corpse.”

“I don’t need sex to know I’m not a corpse,” Justin said defensively.

“No,” Brian agreed hazily, “but it might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I don’t have a stick up my ass!” Justin was getting indignant again, and it really wasn’t a good look on him.

Brian leaned in close. “Maybe you should.” He took Justin by the shoulders and pushed him out on the dance floor, leaning in to whisper last words of advice in his ear. “Go get laid.”

TO BE CONTINUED


	9. Joke (9/?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This fic section is dedicated to Starla, who:_  
>  1\. apparently hates me with the passion of a thousand suns  
>  2\. supplied half the dialogue found herein  
>  3\. gave good advice which I ignored because I am weird.

Later that evening they walked out to the Jeep, Brian with a smug smile on his face, Justin carrying some guy’s business card with a vaguely confused expression. They got in the car and Brian started the engine and began driving to Mikey’s place on autopilot. It seemed like he was always driving Michael home after they went to Babylon—well, unless he was wasted and then Michael was driving him home and he usually didn’t remember later. But anyway, he was used to driving to Michael’s place and substituting Justin for Michael in the passenger seat was surprisingly easy.

Brian thought back to his second trip to the backroom, during which he had seen Justin finally fucking some short, dark-haired guy. He flipped on the turn signal and glanced quickly at Justin. “You looked like you were having fun,” he said.

Justin looked up from the card in his lap, as though he had forgotten Brian was there. “Oh,” Justin said. “He was hot,” he said distractedly. “He had a great ass.”

“Mmm,” Brian said, turning. “His blowjob technique is for shit, though.” Brian had been tragically sober during the entire fellatio experience with Mr. Short, Dark, and Too Much Teeth.

“Really?” Justin said.

Brian nodded. Justin crumpled up the card in his lap and Brian had to resist the urge to feel victorious.

Brian spent the next afternoon in the claustrophobic kitchen of the Agnes Martin Residence Hall for Women, watching Justin and his little friend both giggle at each other while they each lusted after him secretly. Daphne smeared cookie dough on Justin’s nose, Justin laughed and got her on the chin, and Brian wished for a cigarette.

There was one good thing about Daphne, though. She liked gossiping about Justin, and she knew all the good stuff.

Before Justin even was able to introduce them, Daphne blurted out interesting information. “Justin thinks you’re really hot.”

Brian raised an eyebrow at the now-blushing Justin, and the turned back to Daphne. “Is that so?” he said, with great interest. “Tell me more.”

“I think you’re hot, too,” Daphne said, and Brian had to give her points for taste and enthusiasm.

But even the story about Justin’s most humiliating moment in the elementary school play didn’t make his afternoon qualify as enjoyable, and though it had been the price for going out the previous night, Brian almost felt that he needed to go out again to recover.

TO BE CONTINUED


	10. Joke (10/?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to get this part out here. Life has been icky. Anyway, I'll summarize briefly since you've probably all forgotten what was happening. Basically, in the last part Brian and Justin--who have been pretending to be lovers for the sake of Brian's latest client Senator Baxter--fulfilled their social deal with each other; Justin went to Babylon with Brian and Brian baked cookies with Daphne and Justin. Now we jump back in to what's happening with the campaign. Links to the previous parts are available behind the cut tag.

Brian paced furiously out of the building, running his hands over his face and sighing heavily. He walked a few feet away from the door and leaned up against the brick of the Mitchell Center, the location of Baxter’s latest big fundraiser, and most recently, the location of her announcement of the advertising agency she was joining with for the promotion of her campaign—and the agency wasn’t Vangard. Fucking bitch. Trailing them all along for fucking three weeks, making polite talk for a dozen tedious political dinners, and then making her happy little decision to go with some bullshit company from out of state. Brian hoped they had all wrong market analysis for Pennsylvania and that the bitch lost miserably.

He fished a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. Fuck the kid’s little rule about smoking, too. _Christ,_ Brian thought, lighting up and staring up at the sky. He exhaled slowly and wondered if it was worth heading over to Babylon right after he dropped the kid off. Maybe he could call someone over to his place, instead—it was sort of late and he was tired, but still horny. Always horny.

As if he was cued, Justin walked out of the building at that moment. Brian glanced over to see who it was when he heard the door, and then stared at the kid for a moment, taking another drag of the cigarette defiantly.

Justin looked around the empty parking lot for a second, and then followed the sidewalk along the building toward where Brian was standing. He moved into Brian’s personal space and watched the cigarette Brian held in his hand closely.

Brian wasn’t in the mood for a little PSA lecture at the moment, and fuck if he wanted to argue about the kid’s fucked rules. He blew smoke in Justin’s face as an irritated warning.

Justin raised a challenging eyebrow and took the cigarette from Brian’s fingers. Brian narrowed his eyes, expecting Justin to put it out against the brick wall behind them, but instead, Justin raised the cigarette to his own lips. He inhaled and savored it with a blissful expression on his face, eyes closed.

Brian’s eyebrows raised; he was surprised. And still horny—the kid looked pretty fucking hot standing there, his tie undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up and a practically orgasmic expression on his face.

So since the kid had already broken the rules, and the deal was off because the campaign was cancelled, Brian reached out and pulled the kid in close with one hand around the back of his neck and the other on his ass.

Justin was startled, at first, his eyes opening wide, but Brian shifted closer and kissed him and eventually Justin let some of the tension disappear from his body and parted his lips. They sunk into the kiss together. It was competitive and dueling, letting out their pent-up frustration about the stupid campaign and all the lame ass speeches at the fundraiser and Baxter’s games.

Brian made a pleased sound deep in his throat and moved both his hands down to Justin’s ass to grind against him.

But Justin pulled back and stepped away. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Ah ah ah,” he told Brian. “That’s against the rules.”

Brian glared at him. “Fuck the rules. The game’s over, anyway—we lost the account.”

Justin raised both eyebrows. “I can’t believe you’d give up so easily.” He took a last drag off of Brian’s cigarette and then stepped away and crouched to put it out in the mulch. “Miller’s campaign is shit. Baxter’ll be back and begging us to take over.” He laughed. “I give it three days, tops.”

Brian just stared. Justin yanked his own tie off entirely and turned around to start walking toward the car. He yelled back at Brian over his shoulder. “Hurry up, I need to get home and finish a project.”

TO BE CONTINUED


	11. Joke 11/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most inspired writing I've ever done, but at this point, I'm just thankful for some progress. :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who wrote comments on the previous part--I'm sorry I didn't respond personally. I meant to, and then I got sick with a cold, and yeah...never got back to it. But I did appreciate them. :)

Baxter did come back to them, begging. But Justin was wrong. It took four days.

The day Baxter came back had started out poorly, when Brian came in to work and Vance gleefully informed him that it was “save a fucking impoverished kid by letting him follow you around at work day” and introduced him to some high school kid who had so many piercings it looked like he was wearing a full set of silverware in his face. The kid also a mostly shaved head with a circle of black hair on the top all gelled and sticking up in a gigantic spike.

Vance leaned over to whisper in Brian’s ear. “And for God’s sake, Brian, don’t fuck with the kid.”

Brian made faces at Vance’s back as he walked out, watching through the glass as Vance showed his own little impoverished follower around the building, and then turned back to the kid sitting on his couch. Piercings were sometimes an interesting addition to oral sex, but even Brian had limits.

“Nice spike,” Brian said, nodding toward the kid’s hair.

The kid narrowed his eyes and looked at Brian suspiciously.

“Compensate much?” Brian continued, flipping open his laptop.

The morning passed in a slow haze of market research and the kid’s occasional questions from the worksheet he was supposed to fill out interviewing Brian. “Why did you decide to go into this field?”

“I like fucking with other people’s minds,” Brian proclaimed, highlighting a statistic in the article he was reading. The kid scratched at his worksheet with a pencil.

“What sort of obstacles did you have to overcome to get to the position you’re now in?”

Brian’s eyebrows furrowed, and his memory flashed back involuntarily to his father’s bellows about how Brian wasn’t going to go to college, to all the days he gave up Babylon to attend night school classes while he got his MBA, all of Ryder and Vance’s little tests to force him to prove himself. He was about to spout something disparaging and insulting when his phone rang, and Spike was saved by the bell.

“Kinney.”

“Brian,” Senator Baxter gushed, and a slow smile began to form on Brian’s face.

So Justin had been right. And since Baxter had made a mistake and chosen something else in the first place, Brian was able to get her to sign a really sweet contract, filled with perks for himself and deals with her clients pending on the election results.

They met to finalize the agreement after lunch, and Baxter was thrilled to meet Spike and congratulated Brian on being a part of the city-wide internship program to help introduce inner-city kids to high level management careers. Spike quickly faded into the background, though, as Baxter latched back onto Justin, wanting to know when she could see him again.

By the time the contract was signed, Baxter had invited herself over to Brian’s loft the next evening for dinner, so that she could see “Brian and Justin’s lovely home” and go over the strategies for the next wave of fundraising.

That afternoon, Brian left Justin a voicemail message telling him to clear his calendar for tomorrow evening, placed a catering order with the restaurant on Fifth so they’d have something to serve the senator, and showed Spike how to airbrush photos in the art department.

He returned Spike relatively unscathed to Vance, and since Lindsay had been on his case for weeks about coming to see Gus, he went over there for dinner. Someone had let Mel know that he and Justin were working together on the campaign, and she spent the entire meal alternately mocking him for dating Justin and warning him that if he screwed with Ben’s nice foster son he’d have to face up to her.

TO BE CONTINUED


	12. Joke (12/?)

Justin arrived for dinner at five forty-five, which was forty-five minutes after Brian had told him to be there, so Brian was pissed off. “What fucking took you so long?” Everything was already ready for dinner, and fortunately the senator wasn’t going to arrive until six-thirty.

“Group meeting ran over,” Justin said, standing by the door and toeing off his dress shoes. “I kept trying to convince these morons that doing extra work is a bad idea…” his voice trailed off as he finally got his shoes off and began rubbing the insole of one foot against his other ankle, humming with relief.

Brian stared at him. “Why are you taking your shoes off? Put them back on.” Christ, it was like dealing with Gus. That kid took his shoes off everywhere—in the car, tossing them at the driver, at the store, dropping them in the middle of the baking goods aisle, at the park, burying them in the sandbox.

Justin frowned. “My feet hurt. These shoes pinch my toes.”

“Who are you—Cinderella? You can’t entertain clients in your socks, especially when your socks don’t even match your pants. Put your shoes back on.”

Justin grinned at him, raising his eyebrows and standing on his tiptoes to stretch. “No.”

Brian glared at him.

Justin tucked his shoes in a corner by the door and marched over toward Brian prissily. “I bet Senator Baxter doesn’t give a damn whether I’m wearing shoes or not, I bet she thinks I’m the most adorable thing ever either way.”

Brian turned his head away in disgust. “I bet,” Justin continued gleefully, “that if she knew you made me wear shoes that hurt my toes, she would think that was awfully mean. Cruel even.”

“Christ, what a princess,” Brian said, shaking his head. “But go put on some blue socks so at least you don’t clash.” He pointed Justin toward the dresser in the bedroom. “Second drawer.”

The kid was right, of course—pretty much Justin could do no wrong in the eyes of Senator Baxter, which was great when the kid was convincing her to go with Brian’s idea for the next wave of radio spots, but really fucking annoying when he put his feet on the coffee table and wriggled his toes.

When they moved over to the couch after dinner, Brian spent most of the time trying to surreptitiously jostle the kid’s legs onto the floor, until Justin got smart and refilled his wine glass and Brian couldn’t bump him any more without endangering his white leather sofa.

Baxter was one of those clients who liked to hear herself talk. Those were the worst kind of client, because the best way to suck up to them was to listen attentively, but Brian absolutely hated to waste his time listening to a bunch of drivel. Justin was kind of helpful, since he seemed to have a natural gift talking to people like Baxter, but Brian still had to listen to her far more than he liked. She constantly resisted signing contracts, finalizing details, making specific plans, instead putting all of that off with comments about need to check her calendar, or consult with her advisors, and that was fine, except she also insisted on hours and hours of strategy meetings with Brian, which basically meant hours for her to talk and him to pretend he cared.

She was going on and on with her usual shit after dinner, and finally Brian managed to pin her down into looking at the mock ups of the latest ads by saying he needed to have them approved by ten o’clock the next morning in order to get to the printer on time. He finally got Justin to move his feet by spreading out the mock ups on the coffee table, but Justin—sitting next to him on the sofa—was clearly fading fast, yawning every few seconds and starting to lilt toward the arm rest.

The senator kept talking about her new plans for some environmental reform program, and Brian was making careful mental notes, but Justin was falling asleep beside him on the couch, his head doing the nod-jerk thing of falling asleep while sitting up.

"You don't have to stay up, Justin," Kathleen said. "You look tired. Don't let Brian and I keep you up."

Justin sat up and yawned a bit. "No, I'm awake," he said. Brian wondered whether he should suggest to the senator that they just meet again the next day so he could take Justin home, but this was really a particularly productive session, especially once he had gotten her to look seriously at the mock ups.

"I insist you go to bed," Kathleen said. "It's my motherly instincts. You need your sleep!"

Justin shot a questioning look at Brian, and Brian nodded at him, slowly. "I bought you a new toothbrush," Brian said as Justin stood up. "It's in the cupboard."

Justin nodded acknowledgement, stretching sleepily. He took a step away from the couch, but Brian beckoned for him to come back, and he reached a hand up to tug Justin's head down for a chaste press of lips. Brian could see the senator smiling sweetly at them, and he moved his mouth to Justin's ear. "There are sweats and stuff in the bottom dresser drawer."

Justin pulled his head away and favored Brian with a tired smile. "You too," he said quietly to Brian, and Brian watched with genuine pride as Justin headed off toward the bathroom. The boy was a born actor. Brian decided to give him a bonus.

After the bathroom door had shut behind Justin, Kathleen turned back to Brian. "He's a darling boy," she said, delighted with Justin as always.

"Only when you're around," Brian said wryly, and Kathleen laughed as though that was the funniest thing she'd heard all evening.

When Senator Baxter finally left around one in the morning, Brian walked over to the bed and looked down at Justin, who was lying there in too-big sweats, curled around a pillow.

He figured he better call Mikey and the professor so that they wouldn't worry too much about their little lost boy, and sure enough, Ben answered the phone on the first ring, and gave a somewhat disapproving sigh when Brian said Justin'd fallen asleep and Brian'd bring him home in the morning. Brian hung up, took off his clothes, and fell onto the opposite side of the bed himself.

TO BE CONTINUED


	13. Joke (13/?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long since the last Joke update, I know, and I apologize. This part isn't even as good as it should be, and I apologize for that too. But I dedicate it to [](http://rikkrp.livejournal.com/profile)[**rikkrp**](http://rikkrp.livejournal.com/), I bet she can guess why.

Brian’s alarm went off way too fucking early, as usual, though he was pleasantly surprised to note that he didn’t have a hangover. He reached out his arm to bat the alarm off, but he missed the alarm and his arm landed on somebody’s face, which elicited an “Oof” from the somebody, and made Brian sit up, startled.

The body was Justin. Justin’s eyes blinked open, and he glanced from Brian to the beeping alarm on the nightstand. Brian just stared. “Are you going to turn that off?” Justin asked finally.

Brian leaned over Justin on the bed, resting one hand for balance next to the kid’s shoulder and stretching his other arm to hit the alarm. Beeping finally stopped, he pulled back to his original position on the bed, still staring at Justin and trying to put this all together. Finally he nodded. “Baxter’s meeting. You falling asleep on the sofa.”

Justin nodded confirmation with a slightly amused smile on his face.

Brian rubbed his face with irritation, scooting off the bed and standing up. “I need coffee.” Justin pulled up the blue sheet sort of defensively, which made Brian snort on his way to the kitchen.

A couple weeks went by. Brian designed a kick-ass series of television spots, and Justin sucked up to the senator as only an angelic blond could. When they grabbed sandwiches at a café on the way to one of their meetings, Justin pointed out his father’s downtown office building with a derisive sniff and then launched into the whole complicated story of how the perfect son had been cut off and ended up living with Ben and Michael. Brian had heard this story before, from Mikey, but Justin’s version put a lot less emphasis on what a perfect guy Ben was and more emphasis on the irony about it being the first time his father ever came to one of his art shows that he saw Justin making out with another guy and on the football playing roommate that beat him up after hearing his dad’s ever so nice voicemail message.

The next day, Brian picked up Justin on his way to take Gus home after a dinner-visit (the kid was only _half_ covered in applesauce, so Brian counted that a success), and introduced Justin to his son. Justin said that Gus was even cuter in person than in the picture Michael had of him on the refrigerator.

Working together wasn’t perfect—Justin still had a tendency to doodle on his napkin if he got bored at business dinners, he complained constantly that his shoes didn’t fit right, and Michael kept ragging Brian that Justin was gone too much and now they never had time to work on their comic book (the hero of which looked suspiciously like Ben with his shirt off)—but they seemed to find a groove that worked, and Brian was getting increasingly excited about the New York office he was going to open as soon as this campaign was over. They were going to have more contracts than Gardner had ever dreamed of, and it was going to be beautiful.

The first time happened in Brian’s office. Brian was sorting through a lot of bullshit paperwork, and Justin was on the computer trying to tweak the margins of one of their posters so that Baxter’s headline fit and there wasn’t text covering the logo.

Brian was staring at a memo and chewing on the end of his pen and he suddenly became aware that someone’s eyes were on him. The steady clicking of the mouse had stopped, too, and when Brian looked, Justin was brazenly staring at him across the desk, eyes full of lust.

Brian stared back, taking in Justin’s flushed face and slightly parted lips. Brian capped his pen and set it down on the desk without taking his eyes off Justin. The moment drew out and the tension grew exponentially. They finally moved almost in tandem, each shifting in their chairs to lean over the desk. Brian leaned his hands on the desk for balance, Justin had his hands up, tangling in Brian’s hair and pulling their lips together.

It wasn’t particularly satisfying, stretched up over the table. Soon Brian was leaning back and tugging Justin up; he crawled obligingly on top of the desk, and then that was better. The deeper kisses were fiercely satisfying. Brian tried to keep Justin’s mouth occupied, because if the kid pulled away one more time at the last second to say “Stop” or babble about his stupid fucking rules, Brian was going to kill him. He tried to distract Justin from any thoughts of how he shouldn’t be doing this with a hand down his pants, and it seemed to work pretty well, though Brian wasn’t completely victorious until he had Justin spread out on the desk with his legs on Brian’s shoulders, making frustrated fists in his own hair, begging and babbling something about the face of God.

It was good, and Brian concentrated on making it better, because he wanted Justin to always remember this, the little tease.

When they were finished, Brian expected Justin to be aloof, to bitch about his rules or something, and generally be the bratty princess that he was. Instead, Justin heaved a satisfied sigh, sat up gingerly, and pulled a startled Brian’s face in with a hand around his neck for a sloppy post-coital make out session. After a few minutes, Brian wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, so he pulled away and started retrieving his clothes.

Justin followed his lead, tugging his t-shirt back on and then covering that with his dress shirt and fumbling with the buttons, and he was fucking humming.

Brian stood with his pants hanging from one hand and glared at the kid for being so irritably perky and self-satisfied, and he was going to bark out something harsh at him but then Justin was walking across the room and kneeling in front of him, peeling his underwear back off and saying, “Let me suck you off, God, I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.” Justin had fucking amazing lips, and Brian decided maybe he was okay after all.

Brian dropped Justin off in front of Mikey's place at 2:57. Justin pointed at the clock as he opened his car door. "You owe me a bonus," he said.

Brian gave him a look. "That doesn't count."

Justin smiled sweetly. "Home by two or a bonus. That was the deal. 'Night."

* * *

On Friday, Brian wrote out Justin's check of earnings for the week, and Justin complained that his bonus wasn't included. Brian rolled his eyes, grabbed the waistband of Justin's pants, and dragged him over toward the bed. "I'll give you a bonus." Justin didn’t complain about that at all, and really, now that he seemed to have gotten over his anti-sex prissiness, he didn’t complain about much—it was amazing that one so young could have so few inhibitions. What were they teaching in school these days? With Baxter calling every five seconds wanting some miniscule update on the latest ad, Brian didn’t have as much time to go out as he usually did, and Justin was always around anyway, and he did have the most fantastic ass.

If Justin spent more and more time at the loft, Brian told himself it was because their workload kept increasing and it was convenient. Justin was a convenient fuck and a business associate—that was all.

TBC


	14. Joke (14/?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To keep myself from getting bored with this fic and thus taking like two months between updates, I've decided to condense narrative bits and go straight to the hot sex parts. I don't anticipate that any of you will have a problem with that.
> 
> This part is for [](http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/profile)[**wrenlet**](http://wrenlet.livejournal.com/): Happy Mother's Day to my virtual mother! Picture me as a little bird in your nest, with my tiny beak gaping open, begging for nice ~~worms~~ B/B/J threesome fic. Pre-digested, even. Yum.

On Tuesday, Brian and Justin had fun baiting Mikey at the comic book shop, tossing around an action figure and dangling it over his head as Michael tried to get them to hand it to him. Michael complained that Brian was a bad influence on Justin. After Mikey had finally liberated his precious action figure and replaced it in the exact right place on the shelf, Justin finished proofing a comic draft and Brian dawdled around the shop, brushing past Justin at every possible opportunity. Finally, Justin set the comic proofs down emphatically, draped his coat over his lap, and said, “Well, Michael, I have to go.”

“What time are you getting home tonight?” Michael asked as Justin went out the door, ever the perfect mother hen.

“Not sure,” Justin called. Brian listened to the shop bell ding behind him, then set the comic he was fooling with back on the rack and kissed Michael briefly.

“I gotta go,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Michael said knowingly, and then Brian was on his way out the door as well, running to try to catch up with Justin.

Brian suspected that Michael suspected something. But there was nothing to suspect, after all, so Brian didn’t worry about it.

* * *

It all really started to go to hell, Brian decided, when Baxter realized that he and Justin weren't actually married. She had a million reasons why this was the most horrifying thing she'd heard since the news that Bush was in the White House, and they ranged from not being able to take advantage of the new health insurance laws she was passing to frightening words like "commitment" and "lifetime monogamy."

Finally, after enduring four days of her constant nagging and pestering, he agreed to propose it to Justin. Her face just lit up when he said that, as though she were imagining giant weddings completely with cake and flowers, and Brian cringed visibly. This was by far the worst client he'd ever had. He kept reminding himself how great it was going to be when he opened his new office in New York.

To say that Justin was angry when he found out that Brian had agreed to their marriage was the understatement of the year. He was fucking furious, and he was withholding sex, too, which made Brian feel uncomfortably too much like they were already married. So he went to Babylon, and on his way to the backroom he happened to run into two dancing queens, one of whom happened to work for Baxter's PR department.

He recognized Brian, too, and waved excitedly and introduced Brian to his partner before asking where Justin was.

Brian tersely explained that Justin was at home. "Oh," the guy said, his face falling a bit and his expression turning to a frown. "Well, anyway, I heard the good news about you two! Congratulations! I can't wait to see the wedding!"

"It's going to be a private ceremony," Brian bit out. He swiped some random guy's drink off the bar, swallowed it in one gulp, and then got some anonymous twinkie to blow him in the darkness of the alley outside.

When he got home, thankfully Justin wasn't there, and Brian fell into bed surrounded by merciful silence. Justin had stalked out with his overnight bag earlier that day after their latest "anti-marriage" fight. Brian had tried to assure Justin that all they had to do was put Baxter off for a few weeks until the campaign was finished, and then all of this could be completely forgotten with the help of some nice "herbs and spices."

Justin hadn't been particularly placated with that argument, and in retaliation, he'd taken most of Brian's weed with him when he left. Fortunately, he hadn't known about the stash in the kitchen.

Things only got worse the next day at work, because Baxter, bright and cheery as ever, had done them "a little favor," and had gotten a union license ready for them to sign. "I know it'll probably take you a long time to plan out there ceremony," she said, "and I don't begrudge you that because I'm sure it's going to be beautiful, but I just can't stand the thought of you not being able to take advantage of the first wave effects of my new legislation! So it's important to get these documents filed right away."

Brian tried to avoid making eye contact with Justin—he could feel the power of Justin’s glare without even looking at him. He stared down at the contracts, momentarily considered mentioning little details like fucking prenuptials that would protect his property from gold-digging prissy college students, decided that Baxter would kill him if he did, and took Baxter’s proffered pen and signed his name quickly. Then he stared at the wall while Justin took the pen and signed on the line below his name, trying to avoid Justin’s death-glare.

Back at the loft that evening, he started trying to convince Justin of why he shouldn’t kill Brian over this. “Besides,” Brian pointed out. “You’re the one getting all the advantages here—half my possessions, health insurance. That’s more than your goddamn father even does for you. All I’m getting is a pain in the ass.”

Justin was surprisingly un-placated. He was so un-placated that he actually chucked a glass at Brian across the loft, watched it shatter against the brick wall, and then stalked out in a huff.

Brian rubbed his eyebrows tiredly, considered sweeping up the glass before deciding to leave it for the cleaning lady who was coming in the morning, and then took a shower and went to bed. As he was lying in bed, he realized that this was his fucking wedding night, and he wasn’t even getting laid. It figured. Stupid hetero rituals.

Brian awoke in the middle of the night to realize blearily that someone was sitting on top of him. He blinked and over his shoulder—in the dim outlines of blue light—he could see Justin. More than seeing him, he could feel him, stretched out on his back, skin to skin, condom already on and dick positioned.

Justin pushed in, a little too fast, and Brian clenched his teeth and pressed his face into the pillow. As Justin found a motion he liked, Brian was forced to turn his face to the side so he didn’t smother to death, and a low groan escaped him.

Justin leaned in close to bite at Brian’s ear. He spoke harshly and used thrusts to punctuate his statement. “I’m not going to be the fucking wife around here.”

TBC


	15. Joke (15/?)

Several days passed, and they managed, mercifully, to not discuss their new marital status at all. If Brian was getting down on his knees more often then he used to, it was just because he felt like it, and because Justin was usually willing to reciprocate.

(Michael claimed that Brian was totally whipped, because one night when Justin was doing his homework over with Mikey and the happy Professor, Justin was complaining that his feet hurt from the stupid shoes Brian made him wear all the time. Michael, being the petulant little brat he was, snobbishly suggested that Justin get Brian to rub them for him. Justin, being the petulant little brat that he was, dialed up Brian’s phone and said, “I want you to come over here and give me a foot rub,” and hung up. Michael was aghast when twenty minutes later he answered the door and Brian was actually there, but Brian ignored him and his little sing-songy comments about being whipped and prowled over to Justin on the couch, who definitely had some interesting parts to rub. Michael had to make a squawking retreat to his room, covering his ears. But that was all about sex. Really, it was all about sex. Michael should have known that by now. Brian was just fortunate that Michael still didn’t know about the whole marriage thing. At least Justin knew how to keep his mouth shut.)

Sunday morning Justin went to church with his mother like he always did, ever the dutiful little son, and a half-hour after Brian got back from the gym, Justin burst through the loft door and stomped over to where Brian was working on the computer. Justin kicked Brian’s chair away from the computer to force Brian to look at him.

“Guess where Baxter was speaking yesterday morning?” Justin demanded.

Brian didn’t have to guess. “Pittsburgh Women Realtor’s Association.”

“Guess what my mother does for a living?”

“Cage dancing,” Brian guessed. “How the fuck would I know?” he continued indignantly, turning back to his computer.

Justin kicked his chair again, apparently feeling like his point had not yet been adequately made. “She’s a realtor,” Justin announced. “After my sister started school full time, Mom decided—”

Brian cut him off. “Is there a point to this?”

“Guess who Baxter had a little chat with after her presentation.”

Brian leaned his arms on the desk and buried his head in his hands. “Oh shit.”

Justin continued with his diatribe, pacing back and forth. “Of course, the stupid fucking senator had to tell Mom how fucking excited she was about our upcoming fucking wedding…”

Brian suddenly sat straight up, worried. “Did your mother say anything to Baxter?”

“Yeah,” Justin spat out. “She said she’s always wanted to be the mother of the bride.”

“Christ.” Brian ran his fingers through his hair.

Justin ranted about how his mother was angry, how his mother was upset, how she was recommending caterers. Brian could feel a headache of epic proportions coming on.

“And she wants to meet you,” Justin concluded.

That made Brian snap to attention again. “What?”

“You? My spouse?” Justin looked like the word tasted bad in his mouth, making a disgusted face. “I can’t believe I just said that,” he marveled.

“Me neither,” Brian said, shuddering. “Let’s pretend you didn’t.”

“I don’t even _like_ you,” Justin continued.

Brian stood up from his chair and crossed the room. He ran his fingers through Justin’s hair, too, and then kissed Justin’s forehead softly. “I don’t like you either,” he agreed. “So tell your mommy we’re too busy with the campaign, and that we’ll all just have to get to know each other later. Like when we’re dead.”

But of course it wasn’t that simple.

Jennifer Taylor was almost as tenacious as her little boy, and twice as blonde—highlights, Brian could tell. And when Justin refused to set up the perfect little dinner date for her, she showed up at Brian’s office in the middle of the day, escorted herself in, and sat down in a chair in front of his desk, because, as she put it, she wanted to meet “the man her son had apparently decided to marry.”

She held out her hand for Brian to shake. “Jennifer Taylor,” she offered.

“Brian Kinney,” he returned. “Can I help you with something?”

She sat back in her chair a little bit, hands clutching her purse on her lap. “So,” she said, looking around his office pointedly. “You’re in advertising.”

Brian humored her the way he might a really slow child, or Mikey. “Yes.”

“To be blunt, Mr. Kinney,” Jennifer said. “You’re kind of old. I have to wonder what Justin sees in you.”

Brian fought the urge to call security to remove her from his office. “You’d have to ask him about that.”

“I would,” she agreed, “except he’s been avoiding me.” She turned a pointed glare on Brian, who tried not to fidget. She reminded him uncomfortably of his evil second grade teacher, who had been aptly named Mrs. Pain. “I thought you might know something about that.”

Brian shrugged. He wondered if she were going to ask if he was able to support Justin in the style to which he’d become accustomed, which might bring up the sort of awkward issue of Justin still living with Ben and Michael. He was sort of surprised that Baxter hadn’t figured that out yet. It was probably only a matter of time. Probably it’d be safest if Justin moved into the loft until the campaign was over, except he was kind of scared to bring that up with Justin when Justin was still fuming over the whole ring issue. Baxter thought it was so sweet that they each wore a symbol of their commitment to each other.

Jennifer seemed to finish her inspection of him and his office and stood up. “I’d like to see my son,” she concluded. “So I want you to bring him for dinner on Thursday.”

“We have a meeting that day,” Brian said quickly.

“Friday then,” she said, and her eyes warned him that he better not argue with that. “Come at six so we can eat before Justin’s sister has to go to bed.”

TBC


	16. Joke (16/?)

Dinner with Justin’s mother was hell. Brian envied Justin’s sister, who mushed her broccoli up with her fork and then asked to be excused and escaped down the hall. Brian and Justin were stuck making small talk, and Brian couldn’t even get a second glass of wine because Justin’s mother was already glaring at him as though he were an evil alcoholic.

“So,” Jennifer said finally. “It seems like this campaign account must be a lot of work.”

“Yeah,” Justin agreed. “But it’s going to have a big payoff. Brian’s going to start his own agency in New York with the clients—”

Brian kicked Justin under the table, but it was too late.

“New York?” Jennifer said, sounding alarmed. “You’re moving to New York?”

“What?” Justin said, looking up from his mashed potatoes.

Brian tried to smooth over this. “Nothing’s definite yet. We’re still discussing it.”

“Discussing what?” Justin asked, frowning.

Jennifer glared at Brian as though he were trying to kidnap her baby. Brian forced a fake smile. “Discussing where we’re going to live when I open the New York office, right, *dear*?”

Justin caught on with a visible expression of understanding. “Right!”

“Probably Brian will commute back and forth,” Justin told his mother. “You know, a weekend deal.” The hell he would, Brian thought. No way was he commuting back and forth to fucking Pittsburgh.

Jennifer seemed to think that all of this was very dubious. “Well, if you’re going to sell your place, I’d be happy to represent you,” she offered, and Brian had to at least admire her business instincts.

“That won’t be necessary,” he assured her. He wished that his cell phone would ring so that he could pretend there was an emergency and escape. Why hadn’t he asked Michael to call him? That had been a huge mistake.

“That’s right,” Justin chimed in with a too-angelic smile. “I’ll be living in the loft until I graduate, anyway. Maybe we’ll sell after that.”

Jennifer nodded, and Brian kicked Justin under the table. Fucking kid didn’t even live with him and was totally taking over his apartment. All Justin did was come over periodically and complain about his furniture and lack of cereal selection.

Jennifer even forced them to eat disgusting store-bought apple pie with the high-fat cool whip before she let them go. After they finally went out the door of Jennifer’s condo and were walking across the lawn to the car, Brian pulled out a cigarette. Fuck Justin’s rules anyway—plus, he’d caught the little bastard smoking in the kitchen last week. Justin didn’t complain, he just held out his hand for the pack.

“Living in the loft until you graduate?” Brian said sarcastically. “I don’t fucking think so.”

“Fuck off,” Justin said irritably, lighting up. “My mother already thinks I’m a total idiot for marrying you, and she’s positive it’s not going to last.”

“I guess she’ll be all happy when she’s right, then,” Brian said fake-sweetly. “And you don’t even fucking live with me now, don’t expect that you’re gonna get to later.”

“I probably should,” Justin said, sighing. “It’s only a matter of time before Baxter has people staking out your place with video cameras double checking that we’re living our happily married little queer life.”

“Video cameras could be hot,” Brian considered.

“I think I’m going to sue for the loft as my part of the divorce settlement,” Justin decided.

Brian snorted. “Good luck.”

“Just think of how Senator Baxter would feel, knowing that you abandoned me to be homeless and live on the streets, just so that you could take her client list and make it big in the big city.” Justin shook his head sadly. “Gosh. That might make her upset. She might even cry. She might even talk to some of her clients, or her lawyer, or…”

Brian shut the kid up by putting a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “You fucker,” Brian said somewhat fondly. “Who’d you learn this from? Can’t be your mother, ‘cause if she got a decent divorce settlement she’d have a nicer condo.”

Justin smiled. “I learned it from you.”

* * *

So Justin moved in with a minimum of fuss, though he did insist that Brian buy some Capt. Crunch. Brian pulled out his digital camera one night and they made a fantastic film in homage to the perfection that was Justin’s ass. Justin’s mother came over to visit and scoped the place out like she was making an estimate.

Meanwhile, the campaign was tight. It was a close race. Baxter’s opponent had far more funding to work with, and it was starting to show. Brian was watching the evening news with a beer one night when Justin came up with a bowl of cereal to peer over his shoulder. Bob Arbuckle, senate candidate, was joking with the newscaster during an interview and saying hi to “his lovely wife JoAnn, at home with the kids.”

“He gives horrible head,” Brian commented casually, nodding at the screen.

“What?” Justin asked, only half paying attention.

“He must have good people, though,” Brian mused, “that it hasn’t leaked yet.”

Justin’s brows were furrowed. “Wait, wait. You said that Arbuckle is gay?” He was clearly astounded.

Brian gave him a condescending smile and adopting a sarcastic tone. “Don’t be stupid, Cinderella. Look at him. Does he look gay? Clearly not. And just think of his ‘lovely wife’ and ‘darling daughters.’ He’s obviously straight.”

Justin set his cereal bowl down on the coffee table without a coaster or anything, and Brian cringed. “Christ,” he said. “Use a mat!”

Justin ignored him. “You know something about him.” He stared at Brian a moment longer. “You’ve fucked him, haven’t you.”

“I’ve fucked everyone,” Brian grumbled.

“Oh. My. God.” Justin ran his hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He gestured wildly with his arms, pacing back and forth. “This could ruin him,” he told Brian earnestly, as though Brian would somehow be unaware of that.

Brian shook his head, and got up from his chair, carrying his beer bottle and Justin’s cereal bowl into the safety of the kitchen.

“We have to tell Baxter,” Justin was saying. “And call up the media—maybe some talk show hosts, hell, that newscaster he was just interviewing with would probably die to hear this.”

“Nobody’s going to be telling anyone anything,” Brian said firmly, clanking the dishes down in the sink. “Just forget it.”

“Forget it?” Justin echoed incredulously. “How can I forget it? You fucked our oh-so-republican, ever-so-conservative campaign opponent? This could completely ruin his campaign and thus insure our victory, and you want me to forget it?”

“Our victory is already assured,” Brian said dryly, “because we’re fucking brilliant. We don’t need to haul out dirty laundry.”

“Arbuckle gained two points in the polls yesterday,” Justin protested. “Baxter’s trailing!”

“Yeah, by an insignificant margin.” Brian drifted from the kitchen into the bedroom, but Justin followed him, still making his case. Brian let Justin continue to be incredulous while he stripped, and then he dropped a towel over Justin’s head. “New game,” he said. “Starts in the shower. First one to talk loses.”

But of course, that didn’t shut Justin up for long.

TBC


	17. Joke (17/?)

It seemed that the world wasn’t large enough to encompass Justin’s puzzlement and irritation about Brian’s little revelation, and neither was Brian’s voice mail. After he’d escaped Justin’s in-person whining by leaving for the office he was tormented by new messages every three minutes or so, and when Justin filled up the quota on his machine, Cynthia started to bring him little pink slips. “You have to talk to him,” Cynthia told him firmly, and Brian glared at her until she retreated back to her desk.

The next time his cell rang, Brian picked up. “What?” he barked.

“Tell me why you haven’t told Baxter! Tell me!” Justin demanded, his insistent voice floating over the phone line.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Brian said dismissively.

“Fuck there is.” There was a pause and then Justin sighed, frustrated. “Tell me!”

“Did you ever consider,” Brian asked bitingly, “that maybe I don’t want *my* private life exposed to the entire world?”

Justin gave a weak laugh. “I considered that if it meant getting your little bonus payoff and moving to New York, you wouldn’t care if the whole world saw,” he retorted.

“Fuck off,” Brian said, clicking the phone off.

His phone rang again a minute later. “Stop calling me,” Brian said, “or I’m going to have to change my number.”

“Fuck you!” Brian could hear Justin shout. “Asshole,” he muttered. Brian rolled his eyes and hung up again.

Not surprisingly, Justin was out that night when Brian got home, and it was sort of nice to have some peace and quiet. After Brian had eaten some leftovers and had a beer, he decided that there was almost too much peace and quiet, and so he went to Babylon. Michael was dancing with Emmett and Ted, and Ben was leaning up against the bar when Brian ordered a drink.

“Hey,” Ben said, in that hyper-concerned, I-am-Mr.-Perfect voice he had.

Brian blinked at him.

Ben turned around to lean his forearms on the bar and tilt his head in toward Brian. “So I heard Michael and Justin talking about you this evening,” Ben began.

Brian smiled graciously. “Well, everybody does.”

“I don’t know if you’d consider me your friend,” Ben started, and Brian could just sense that this was going to be a conversation he wasn’t going to like. “But I consider you my friend,” Ben continued, “And so does Michael, and so does Justin,” he added pointedly.

Brian scanned the crowd to see if there was anybody new he hadn’t fucked around tonight. He kept his eye open for anyone who might know Baxter, too, just to be safe.

“Michael was telling Justin about some of the hard times you had in high school,” Ben was saying. “Particularly your sophomore year, I guess, when your father got laid off?” He seemed to be looking to Brian for confirmation but fuck if Brian was going to give it to him. Brian stared at his glass. “Michael said that sometimes you picked up older guys just so that they’d pay for a hotel room where you could spend the night.”

Brian set his glass down and cleared his throat. “Maybe I did,” he said, shrugging. “What of it?”

Ben shrugged one shoulder. “Sounds like a hard life, that’s all.”

What the fuck did Ben know about a hard life? He grew up with his chubby PFLAG mother and all he worried about was whether he could read another five minutes before lights out. “Not all of us can have handy little professors to take us in when we get kicked out of home,” Brian said sarcastically.

Ben was impossible to ruffle. “Justin’s lucky,” Ben agreed. Impossible to ruffle, and modest, Brian modified.

“What’s your point?” Brian said, turning to face Ben and pining him with his eyes. “I don’t need your pity,” he spat.

“I’m not—” Ben started, but Brian cut him off.

“You want to know what my sophomore year was like?” Brian asked, taking a step closer. “After Pop was laid off for two months the only food we had in the house was booze and the fucking casseroles my mother got from the church. And you know whose fault that was? Mine,” Brian said, “according to dear old dad. And he liked to express that. With his belt. So yeah, I went out. Yeah, I picked up other guys. And yeah, I picked up our dear Senator, Bob Arbuckle. But you know what?” Brian said, leaning in close so that his lips were practically touching Ben’s ear. “He was one of the nice ones. He’d buy me a cheeseburger, first, and a strawberry shake. And he always left by nine, because he had to get home to tuck his daughter in to bed.”

Brian took a step back, suddenly, and tossed back the rest of his drink. Ben opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, but Brian held up a hand to stop him, and then melted into the crowd.

* * *

Ben was apparently a lousy confidant, because the next day, Justin had a new shtick. His first call was at 7:03. “How old were you?” he demanded.

Brian clicked the phone off.

7:05 it rang again. “Tell me!” Justin really needed to get some new lines.

“Why hello, honey,” Brian said smarmily. “How was your night? My feet were cold without your ass to warm them up.”

“Fucking tell me how old you were.”

“I miss you,” Brian sing-songed. “Are you coming home tonight? Dinner gets cold when you’re late.”

This time it was Justin who hung up in disgust, and Brian counted this a victory, snickering as he got up to make himself coffee.

Brian may have won a battle, but Justin won the war, and finally, at 4:23, Brian was rubbing his eyebrows in pain. “Fifteen,” he spat into the phone. “Are you happy now?”

Justin only hung up.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at http://josselin.livejournal.com/80292.html


End file.
